


Shorter Fuse

by Erisah_Mae



Series: All the King's Horses and All the Kingsmen [3]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Car Chases, Driving, Gen, So much driving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-04-07 18:42:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4273923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erisah_Mae/pseuds/Erisah_Mae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In another universe, Eggsy’s temper would have held another two and a half weeks, until Dean made a comment about him and his dog-faced second in command having a go at his Mum.<br/>In this universe however, Daisy caught a cold, and kept Eggsy awake with her coughing and sniffling and crying.<br/>Eggsy loved his baby sister, but there’s nothing like lack of sleep to lower the filters and general tolerance for bullshit.<br/>So in this universe, when Rottweiler made a comment about Eggsy’s mate Jamal, instead of Eggsy letting it slide like Jamal had asked, this time…"<br/>This time Eggsy lifted Rottweiler’s keys and went joyriding a full two and a half weeks earlier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s a curious thing, holding one’s temper.

Eggsy was extremely good at holding his temper.

There were a number of reasons for this.

First and foremost, Eggsy was generally an easy going sort of guy. It took quite a bit to rile him up enough to react, and so long as people did general good by him, he wasn’t generally disposed to wanting to overreact when they fucked up every once in a while.

Because the thing is, everyone fucks up every once in a while.

Take Eggsy’s Mum. She tried to do her best by him, most of the time. She told him off when he got into trouble, she patched him up when he got hurt, and more than anything, ever since his Dad had been killed in action involved with some shady organisation (he’d been 6, not deaf, when that man in the fancy suit had showed up to tell them Dad was dead and give him that get out of jail free card medal, and you don’t just forget that sort of thing, even when you’re only 6,) she was the one person in this world who told him that she loved him.

Because of that, there was a lot he could forgive her.

Even getting involved with Dean.

Who, to be fair, even though he was an epic level cunt, had not always shown himself to be so. Before his Mum had married him, Dean had played the part of being the strong, tough man to aspire to being. He’d given Eggsy tips about boxing, and clapped him on the shoulder and told him ‘well done’ the first time Eggsy had used that to punch out a kid who had been set to pick on one of his mates. Sure, he made Eggsy quit gymnastics, but at the time, Eggsy had been kinda suspicious of the coach anyhow. (The Olympics? Yeah fucking right. Eggsy knew how the world worked, and Billy Elliot might be based on a true story, but Eggsy knew better than to believe in fairytales.)

Then Dean gave Eggsy some pills to deliver to a mate of his, Eggsy got caught when the cops did a raid and he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong fucking time, and Eggsy had never listened to a fucking word the asshole had to say ever again. Because Eggsy might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer when he wanted to trust someone- after all, he’d ignored his instincts when Dean had asked him for this favour, and he _knew_ his instincts were usually good- but once someone had lost his loyalty, he never bothered with them again.

Unfortunately, at that point he still lived with his mother, and she was then pregnant with Daisy. So there he was, just out of highschool (he’d actually done pretty well, all things considered, and maybe with a scholarship he might have made it to uni, but what the fuck was the point for even applying when he knew that would mean leaving his Mum and his soon-to-be-born baby sis living with the fucker who got him a record?) and with a shiny new criminal record. No one would hire him (weren’t like there were a bunch of jobs going to start with) and the one time he did get a job, Dean, (who had taken a distinct dislike to Eggsy ever since Eggsy told him straight up he had no interest in becoming more of a criminal,) had sent his bully boys over to fuck shit up, until the shop owner had told Eggsy that no hard feelings, but he couldn’t run a business like this.

In another universe, Eggsy’s temper would have held another two and a half weeks, until Dean made a comment about him and his dog-faced second in command having a go at his Mum.

In this universe however, Daisy caught a cold, and kept Eggsy awake with her coughing and sniffling and crying.

Eggsy loved his baby sister, but there’s nothing like lack of sleep to lower the filters and general tolerance for bullshit.

So in this universe, when Rottweiler made a comment about Eggsy’s mate Jamal, instead of Eggsy letting it slide like Jamal had asked, this time…

This time Eggsy lifted Rottweiler’s keys and went joyriding.

(After all, the combination of Rottweiler and the rest of Dean’s gang giving him and those he counted close shit, the bright yellow souped up Subaru Impreza and Eggsy’s hard-won driving skills – street racing might be as dangerous and illegal as fuck, but there was good cash in it, and it wasn’t like adding a little to his criminal record would hurt his already shit employability, and so Eggsy had been able to put away a small sum for emergencies before he’d had one close call too many with the cops and decided to quit until the heat was off – were always going to be like the combination of match, petrol tank and raging pyromaniac.)

In this universe, it took more than a block before Eggsy ran into a cop, but the result was about the same. In this universe though, it wasn’t a fox that made Eggsy stop and get cornered, but rather a sleep-deprived mum taking her bub out on a stroll in the pram and not quite looking both ways as she crossed the street.

Eggsy’s mates were a little quicker to get out of the car in this universe, but otherwise, the result was about the same— Eggsy made the sacrifice play, just like his Dad had always shown him when he was teaching him chess back in the day.

(Eggsy had never had to be told that he was a pawn. He looked around with open eyes, and he saw how little control he would ever have over his life, and how little people would ever give a shit.)

To their credit, the coppers were begrudgingly impressed that Eggsy had allowed himself to get caught rather than hitting the pram. (Though that probably said a lot about the calibre of criminal they were used to dealing with).

On the other hand, they weren’t about to just let Eggsy walk after that, so naturally, he still found himself locked up at the police station.

And so it happened that in this universe, a full two and a half weeks previously than the other one, when Eggsy made the call from the interview room to Kingsman, (off a mobile phone he’d lifted from one of the detectives, because the thing was, he was in the UK, and the UK have a different set of rules than the US with their whole “right to a phonecall” business,) Harry Hart was not looking for a Lancelot candidate.

And that made all the difference.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy gets (somewhat unexpectedly) out of hot water with the police. It's not Harry Hart who picks him up.

The coppers hadn’t looked well pleased about letting Eggsy go, but, to his utter surprise, they did so.

Guess that get out of gaol free card was good after all.

So out he walks, ignoring the mix of greasies and general confused glances that the boys and girls in blue were giving him, and two seconds later, this posh-looking bloke in a pair of really nerdy glasses offers him a lift home.

The fuck?

“Who are you?” Eggsy asks him.

“My name is Richard Roe,” said the man in a vaguely Scottish accent, “and I’m the one who arranged for you to be released.”

Eggsy looked the man up and down. Shiny shoes, neatly pressed trousers, shabby cardigan that nonetheless looked as though he had bought it from some place that would quickly chivvy Eggsy out the door, for fear he might scare off the real customers.

If Eggsy had to guess, he’d say this geezer was a university lecturer or somesuch, except for the part where his posture was military straight, and Eggsy ain’t never heard of no university lecturer who could spring a body from lock-up.

The man starts walking, and Eggsy quickly falls into step with him.

“Much obliged, but ‘ow’d you manage that?” Eggsy asked, cocking his head.

Roe inclined his head, considering. “I could tell you, but I’d first have to get you to sign a non-disclosure agreement acknowledging that if you told _anyone_ , I would also be able to arrange for you and your next of kin to end up in body bags.”

Eggsy blinked and backed up a step. “Right. Well, thanks for the favour, but I’m thinking I’ll be makin’ me own way home,” he babbled. “Much obliged that you offered the lift and all, but it’s no trouble, so uh, I’ll be getting out of your uh,” somehow mentioning ‘hair’ seemed particularly impolitic when confronted with the quietly terrifying bald man, but then Eggsy alighted on a plausible alternative, “way! Uh, yeah, I’ll be gettin’ out of your way, and uh, thanks. You can count on me not to say nothing, I never grassed on no one.”

“Indeed?” Roe stated, as though Eggsy had pointed out a particularly fascinating species of insect to him.

Eggsy nodded quickly, and would have bolted, were it not for the next words out of the scary man’s mouth.

“You know, I was trying to find the resemblance between you and your father, but I believe I just found at least one point of similarity,” Roe said.

Eggsy paused. “You, uh, you knew my Dad?” He gulped, and then straightened, looking Roe in the eye. “Did you know him well?” He couldn’t quite squash the wistful tone from his voice.

(Eggsy’s mother had only rarely told him stories about his dad, as first she was too depressed to talk about him, and then later, when she had got with Dean, well…

Suffice to say the rare stories had pretty much stopped completely.)

“Yes,” Roe replied. “I’m the one who trained him.”

Eggsy blinked. “You mean when he was doing whatever shady black-ops thing it was that got him killed?” he whistled lowly. “No wonder you’re such a scary bastard.”

Roe blinked, and then abruptly started laughing, obviously startled at much at his own reaction as Eggsy’s comment.

Eggsy relaxed a hair. It was a thing he had learned, that if he was a little bit ridiculous, if he could make people laugh, then they would generally not regard him as a threat, and sometimes, that even meant he wouldn’t get punched in the face.

(Sadly this didn’t work with Dean’s gang, because if they thought they saw weakness, they’d be more than happy to stick one of their oversized boots into it. They were cunts like that.)

He considered Eggsy for a moment, making Eggsy feel as though he was being x-rayed, and then sighed.

“We may have got off on the wrong foot,” Roe stated.

Eggsy felt his eyebrows raise. “That might be an understatement, bruv. Most people don’t offer death threats within the first five minutes of meetin’.”

A rueful smile quirked at the corners of Roe’s mouth.

“This is true.” He inclined his head. “I was serious about that offer of the lift.”

 Eggsy hesitated. As he had babbled before, this Roe geezer had definitely established his scary bastard credentials already.

Roe, spotting his hesitation, sweetened the deal. “We could stop somewhere and I could tell you a few stories about your father.”

Eggsy weighed his options, and decided to risk it.

“You promise if you kill me, me Mum and baby sis will get at least some story about what happened? Only I reckon if I disappeared like, it’d straight-up kill Mum with worry, and then Daisy would have no one in the world but my step-dad, and that’s not a fate I’d wish on me worst enemy,” Eggsy explained.

Roe’s expression had turned decidedly odd, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or hit his head against the nearest brick wall.

“I won’t kill you unless you start spilling important secrets where they might be heard by enemies,” Roe promised with an air of laboured patience.

Eggsy nodded. “Alright then. Simple enough. Just tell me ‘classified’ if I hit on anythin’ sensitive, and I won’t push. I won’t say I’m not curious about whatever spooky shit you got going on, but frankly all I really want to hear about is what you can tell me about my Dad.”

Roe paused at a slate-coloured sedan, and Eggsy’s eyebrows raised when he realised that it was a Mercedes.

“Nice lookin’ wheels,” he commented. “‘Ow’s she run?”

Roe paused, and seemed to be considering something.

“Want a try?” he asked.

Eggsy stared. “You out of your bleedin’ mind? Course I would, if you’re serious.” Then his shoulders slumped. “Though considerin’ I nearly got eighteen months for dangerous driving, it’s maybe not such a good idea.”

He looked up to see Roe gazing at him looking distinctly contemplative.

“So that was actually you behind the wheel?” he questioned.

Eggsy snorted. “I can give a demonstration if you really want. I’m not some twit who takes the fall for his mates just because, I made sure I fuckin’ _earned_ that dangerous driving charge.”

Roe tilted his head slowly. “Yes, that was what I thought, but it’s always worth checking.” He nodded decisively. “Actually, yes. Since you’ve offered, I would like a demonstration of your driving. Try to keep within the speed limit where possible, but see if you can’t get us to… the White Stag,” he said, naming a pub that Eggsy was vaguely familiar with, “by noon.”

Eggsy checked his cheap digital watch.

“You do know that noon’s seventeen minutes away, right?” Eggsy checked, “and that if I was bein’ good, driving all old lady like, it would take us a good forty minutes.”

Roe merely smiled, doing, in Eggsy’s mind, a credible impression of the Mona Lisa.

Eggsy grinned. “Alright then. You asked for it.”

Roe unlocked the car and then chucked Eggsy the keys.

They both got in the car, and Eggsy said, “I’d buckle up, bruv.”

Before hitting the accelerator and only barely avoiding burning rubber (wouldn’t do to stick his fingers up at the police _too_ obviously after his latest brush with arrest) as he shot out of the parking space and started weaving expertly through the traffic.

“Huh,” Eggsy commented as he squeezed between a van and a motorcycle, “this car handles pretty decent. Wicked suspension, though if the accelerator were any touchier she’d be a rabbit on crack.”

“I’ll pass on your comments,” was all Roe said.

(Eggsy filed that away along with all the other weird things Roe – assuming that was even his real name, Eggsy was starting to doubt it – said for later mulling over.)

Thirteen minutes later, and Eggsy practically drifted into a parking space that was conveniently only a few metres from the front of the White Stag.

Roe’s expression, one of mild interest, had not changed the entire drive.

“Not bad,” he said blandly, getting out of the car.

Eggst blinked disbelievingly before following him.

“You aren’t half-hard to impress,” he said, passing the keys back to Roe.

Roe’s half-smile reappeared.

“Yes well, I _do_ train people for a living. It means I can’t help but spot all the flaws in even the specialists. However,” he added, as Eggsy winced, “that said, I must say that you are full of surprises. My informants told me the nature of your little stunt last night, but I must admit that I didn’t believe them. From that small sample of your driving I can say that perhaps I was premature in discounting your skills. I was going to look up the CCTV footage already, but now I must admit that I’m actually looking forward to viewing it.”

Eggsy grinned.

“Got to admit, that were one of the wilder stunts I ever pulled.”

Roe nodded politely, as he held the door of the pub open. “Any particular reason for the timing of said stunt, or were you just bored?”

Eggsy grimaced. “Lost my temper,” he admitted, stepping past Roe and into the pub. “I never been a fan of people talking shit about my friends, and that’s all I’m gonna say.”

“Well it is at least an _original_ way of getting revenge, although I must say it seems more than a bit self-destructive,” Roe noted.

Eggsy shrugged. “Not the stupidest thing I’ve done by a long shot, though,” he grinned a little as he admitted, “it might have been one of the flashiest.”

They entered the pub, and found a table by the window. Roe ordered them both pints, and then began regaling Eggsy with stories of his father, starting with “He saved my life, you know?” and then going through a number of stories about training that ranged between interesting and downright hilarious. Eggsy could tell that Roe was still watching him, evaluating him for some reason, but figured it was probably just him being weighed up over the likelihood of Eggsy telling tales out of school about the shady circumstances of him getting out of the police station without a court date or gaol.

About an hour and a half later, Eggsy checked his watch, and realised he really should check in with his Mum before she worried herself to death. (She was by no means a perfect parent, but she did care. He just wished she was strong enough to leave Dean. That was all. For Daisy, if not for him.)

He excused himself, thanking Roe for the pint.

Roe stood up and clapped Eggsy on the shoulder, telling him that Lee would have been proud.

Eggsy’s expression was half-hopeful and half-dubious as he left the pub to get into the car. As far as he was concerned, whatever debt Roe might have felt over his father saving his life, after today, they were square.

This time Roe drove, and Eggsy was somewhat quietly smug to note that he could have gotten them there faster, even though Roe himself was not exactly overly invested in following the road rules except as vague guidelines.

(He did find it more than a little creepifying though that Roe didn’t have to ask him where he lived, merely parked about a half-block from the apartment where he lived without comment.)

“Thanks Roe,” he said as he left the car. “You’re the guv’na.” Then he rounded the corner and was out of sight.

If he had stuck around a few minutes longer, he would have seen Roe tap the side of his glasses, and then start talking to himself.

“Galahad, this is Merlin. You would not believe who I’ve just been talking to… Lee Unwin’s boy. Yes… Better than I could have hoped, considering what I could find about him on paper… Oh, nothing too serious, but ‘wasted potential’ is about the long and the short of it… Yes, well, I thought I’d give you the heads up that I’m going to be interviewing him for Merlin division, just in case you wanted to drop by when you get back from Seoul.... Yes, yes of course. Well in any case, I have to go. Stay safe, and do try not to start any wars. You know what they say about landwars in Asia.”

Merlin tapped his glasses again, and then pulled out his smart phone, using it to switch on the bug he had planted on the boy. Eggsy would be getting home any minute now, and then, well.

Then would be the test to see if Eggsy was as discreet as he said he was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy goes home.
> 
> Warning, Domestic Violence.

Eggsy gets home, and the first thing he can hear is the baby crying.

He walks over to the crib, and Daisy is lying there, eyes and cheeks red, nose leaking snot, screaming her lungs out and clenching her tiny fists.

He picks her up and shushes her.

“Shhhh Daisy-baby, it’s okay, your big bruv’s got ya.”

And then he sees a fast movement coming from the corner of his eye towards his face.

Instinctively, he curls in to protect Daisy, which means the slap grazes the back of his head rather than getting him in the face.

“The fuck is wrong with you!” Eggsy swears, turning to see Dean glaring death at him. “You could have hit ‘er!”

Daisy is screaming louder.

“Put ‘er the fuck down then,” Dean snarls, unrepentant as far as Eggsy can see, but still with enough restraint to want to avoid hitting his baby daughter.

(For now, Eggsy adds to himself, sotto voce even in his own head. He doesn’t trust that to last. There was a time, he knows, that his Mum thought she could protect _him_ from Dean, that he would never hit a child. She was wrong.)

Eggsy complies with Dean’s demand, gently placing the wailing Daisy back in the crib. He’s not about to use his baby sister as a shield. He wishes he could comfort her, but that would involve delaying, and he doesn’t trust Dean to hold his temper if it’s a choice between hitting a “stalling” Eggsy and avoiding hitting his daughter.

(Eggsy hates Dean so much sometimes that he can barely breathe.)

The second Daisy is out of Eggsy’s hands, Eggsy takes a step back, and then Dean practically tackles him into the door.

“So,” says Dean in a faux-conversational tone that is not in the same city as friendly, “you want to tell me what the _fuck_ you were thinkin’ when you stole Rottweiler’s car?”

Eggsy shrugs as best he can whilst pinned against the door with a hand fisted in his shirt.

Dean slaps him across the face, hard enough that Eggsy nearly hits the other side of his face on the door.

“Wasn’t,” he admits, hoping (doubting) the concession will work.

“Wasn’t what?” Dean demands.

“Wasn’t thinking,” Eggsy elaborates. The door-handle is digging into his back, but he doesn’t bother to try and move. Last time he struggled, Dean not only cracked a rib on him, he blacked Eggsy’s Mum’s eyes when she was begging him to stop.

Dean didn’t like to be told “no” or “stop”, and things that Dean didn’t like tended to be met with physical violence.

(Eggsy’s dearest wish used to be that one day Dean would go too far, and his Mum would snap and take him and Daisy away from it all. But Eggsy, older and wiser Eggsy, who had read the domestic violence statistics in the papers, the statistics of spousal homicide… Eggsy knew that chances were, if Dean did go too far for his Mum, it would be too fucking late anyway. He’d stopped trying to tell her to leave him a long time ago. The look she got in her eyes- hopeless, guilty, despairing, resentful… He didn’t understand it, but he did understand that no matter what he said, she wasn’t going to leave the bastard, even (especially) since she’d had Daisy. He stuck around because the one time he had left to join the Marines, he’d come back to find his Mum pregnant and with two broken arms. And apparently worrying about _his_ life. Eggsy didn’t understand her, and times like that, he really didn’t _want_ to.)

Dean leans forward, and Eggsy can smell the stale beer and salt and vinegar chips on his breath.

“You’re damn fuckin’ right you weren’t thinking,” Dean growls, “Not that thinkin’ has ever been one of your strong points.” Eggsy doesn’t bother to defend himself. There is no right answer. There is never a right answer. “Now, Rottweiler, he says that you stealing that car is disrespectin’ me. I’m disinclined to agree, but on the other ‘and, I ‘as to look after me own.” (Eggsy was somewhat relieved that Dean didn’t consider him to be one of “his own”, but on the other hand, now was really not a time where the benefits of that were exactly being highlighted.) “And when the free-loading dole-bludger poor excuse for a step-son Michelle landed me with wrecks the shit of one of me own, then well, that looks bad, now, don’t it. Did you think you were going to get off scot free?”

No. It was just that for a moment there, Eggsy hadn’t cared.

He stays silent for now, but the room is still filled with Daisy’s crying.

(Poor mite. She doesn’t deserve to be ignored like this, but Eggsy is a little tied up just now.)

Unfortunately, a sudden light flickers in Dean’s eyes as he comes to a realisation.

Eggsy braces himself.

(He knew this was coming. That doesn’t make it any easier.)

“Come to think of it, why the fuck aren’t you in the bin right now? Little Jerry saw you get nicked.”

Eggsy shrugs, eyes looking over Dean’s shoulder at the dent on the opposite wall from where he threw Eggsy a couple of weeks back. (He wonders if it will get deeper today, or if there will be a matching one added to the décor.) “Dunno. They just let me off with a warning,” Eggsy lies easily, smoothly.

He doesn’t ask himself why he doesn’t tell Dean about Roe, because as far as he can see, Roe did him a solid. (Eggsy doesn’t count the debt of his father’s death against Roe, because he’s well aware that one good turn does not have to lead to another.) And something Eggsy has learned, is that if he wants the good things in his life to stay good, he keeps them out of Dean’s knowledge.

(Also, he has no particular desire to put Roe in the line of fire for some kind of half-witted extortion scheme. It’s not that he got the vibe that Roe couldn’t take care of himself, it’s more why make him have to deal with shit in return for helping a mate out? Doesn’t seem like a winning strategy for encouraging repeats of such behaviour in future, Eggsy reckons.)

“You expect me to believe that?” Dean asks him, incredulous.

“Yup,” Eggsy responds. (What else is he supposed to say? It’s even true.)

Dean stares at him.

Eggsy stares coolly back.

(In the background, Daisy is still crying.)

Dean takes exception, and punches Eggsy in the gut. Then he does it again, only Eggsy flinches, so he gets him in the ribs instead. Eggsy slides down the door, instinctively curling up to protect himself, but Dean just starts kicking him instead.

Worried that Dean is going to break his ribs, Eggsy shouts. “I don’t fucking know, alright? Go ahead, beat the shit out of me! Nothing you ain’t done before!”

“And I’ll do it again, you worthless piece of shit! Now ‘fess up! Who the fuck did you grass on!”

Oh, Eggsy thought a little distantly as he was slapped again. He should have realised.

“I never grassed on nobody!” Eggsy insists. Truthfully, as it happens, but that didn’t matter. He had been tried and judged in the Court of Dean, and by experience he knew that at this point there was literally nothing he could say that would make this better. He just has to wait. Dean always gets tired of using him as a punching bag eventually.

“You think I’m stupid, don’t you, Muggsy.” Dean punches him again. “You think you can get horseshit like that past me?” Kicks him in the shin with his steel-capped boots. “Think again. Now let’s try this again.” He pulls Eggsy up by the collar, so that he’s practically standing on tiptoe against the door, even as he’s trying to double over. “Why’d they let you fucking go? Who’d you grass on to save your sorry arse?”

“I didn’t grass on nobody!” Eggsy wheezes, air knocked entirely out of him by the blows. “I swear to god!”

“Oh yeah?” Dean asks him. “Then what the fuck are you doin’ here rather than locked up?”

“I dunno, maybe they thought I was too pretty to lock up,” (He knows he’s going to regret the weak attempt at a witticism, but sometimes he can’t help his stupid smart mouth.)

Dean snarls. Hits him again. Asks him again.

There’s a sudden knock at the door behind Eggsy’s back.

The tableau freezes. Even Daisy quietens down for a moment.

“Who the fuck is it?” Dean demands. (He knows it’s not Michelle, because she a) wouldn’t knock, and b) should be at the hairdressers for another two hours. Fucked if he knows why getting her hair done takes so long.)

Eggsy eels out of his loosened grip, and practically rolls across the floor to get away from Dean. He picks Daisy up out of her crib, and bounces her lightly until she calms down to hiccuping sobs rather than wails. She buries her face against his neck and clings. It breaks Eggsy’s heart as usual, but since it’s usual it’s nothing he’s not used to.

It’s amazing what one can get used to.

“I have a delivery for a Mr. Dean Baker,” comes a voice that sounds suspiciously familiar, though the faint Scottish accent Eggsy had heard before has broadened significantly.

Dean doesn’t open the door.

(Credit where credit’s due, Dean is as cunning as a shithouse rat. There’s a reason why he’s never been nicked despite having not so much dirty hands as shit caked up past his elbows.)

“Oh yeah? I didn’t order nothing. You got the wrong fucking place.”

“I highly doubt that,” comes the response through the door. “Mr. Dean Anthony Baker, yes? Born in Leeds, educated at St. Joseph’s, before you found your way to London. Husband to Mrs Michelle Baker _nee_ Unwin _nee_ Grant. Father of one Daisy Baker and stepfather of one Gary “Eggsy” Unwin. Reportedly earned £9, 452 last year before taxes, but I think we both know that your little illegal business enterprise selling pills to schoolchildren keeps you in far better financial standing than that.”

Eggsy resisted the urge to whistle lowly. He didn’t know how the fuck Roe had figured any of that shit out, but it was almost worth the price of admission to see the colours Dean was turning.

Daisy whimpered, and he held her closer, ready to move if he had to. He didn’t want to bet one way or the other how Dean would react, but he suspected that it would be a reaction he might want to get the hell out of the way for.

Dean picked up a knife from the counter.

Eggsy practically dove through the nearest doorway and yelled “He’s got a knife!” slamming the door behind him and sitting against it, Daisy still wrapped in his arms.

He’ll catch hell for that later, he knows, but he’ll be damned if he lets Dean stab someone if he’s in a position to warn them, no matter who it is.

“You motherf-“ Dean’s infuriated bellow suddenly cuts off, and there’s the thud of a body hitting the ground.

The door creaks open (Eggsy is sure it was locked before) and there’s a muffled swearword.

Eggsy doesn’t dare breathe.

He hears soft footsteps across the carpet, until he can hear someone on the other side of the door.

“Eggsy.”

Eggsy lets out a gasping breath in relief.

It’s not Dean.

“Who’s there?” he demands. (He’s pretty sure he knows, but it pays to be cautious.)

“Come now Eggsy,” (that’s all the confirmation Eggsy needs, and he slowly stands, still cradling Daisy in his arms) “I know we only met today, but honestly, I only dropped you off five minutes ago and-“

Eggsy opens the door, and Roe stops talking.

He looks him up and down, taking in the rising bruises on Eggsy’s face, the way that Eggsy is standing a little gingerly, with the tear and snot-streaked visage of his baby sister rubbing off onto his shirt.

“So I have good news and bad news,” Roe says, with a glint in his eyes that Eggsy takes to mean that this is not what his first impulse is to say.

Eggsy gulps.

“What’s the bad news?” he asks.  (Better to get the worst over with.)

“Blood is extremely difficult to get out of carpet,” Roe replies.

Eggsy feels his eyebrows raise into his hairline. That was sort of left field- HOLY FUCKING SHIT!

Eggsy sees Dean lying in a puddle of blood, and makes an abortive move to check on him, but pauses, rather than get any closer to the man who almost definitely just killed his stepfather.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, holding Daisy closer.

Roe shakes his head. “I didn’t kill him.”

Eggsy looks pointedly at the body lying face-down not two metres from them.

And then startles as it groans.

“He managed to stab himself when he fell down. Clumsy of him,” Roe says, in a mild tone as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Eggsy isn’t sure if he’s impressed or terrified.

“The fuck did you manage that?” he wonders aloud. “I heard him fall before the door opened.”

Roe smiles, as though Eggsy has accomplished something.

“Good observation skills,” he praises. “I electrocuted him.”

Eggsy blinks, opens his mouth, closes it again, and considers.

“You got him through the doorhandle, didn’t you,” he states rhetorically. He looks Roe up and down, from shiny shoes to drab expensive clothes to shiny scalp. He hadn’t missed the part where Roe looked as though he worked out on a pretty regular basis.

“What the fuck kind of line of work you in that you carry around a taser?” he asks him.

Roe’s smile morphs into a smug smirk that wouldn’t look foreign on Lucifer’s lips.

(Eggsy shivers lightly.)

“And that brings us to the good news. I wish to offer you a job.”

Eggsy looks at him disbelievingly.

“A job doing what exactly?” he demands, absent-mindedly rocking Daisy slightly when she makes a small noise.

“Driving, for a start. The rest will depend on what skills you have, and how good you are at picking up new ones. The job comes with accommodation, and,” Roe pauses, and then says in a softer voice that makes the hairs on the back of Eggsy’s neck stand up, “whether you accept it or not, I will make sure that this fucker never darkens the doorstep of your sister or mother ever again. I owe your father at least that much,” he adds, almost to himself.

Eggsy shakes his head incredulously.

“Who the fuck _are_ you?” he wonders.

Roe hands him a business card.

Eggsy juggles Daisy slightly so that he can reach out with one hand. He notes that the symbol on the back matches the medallion he’s worn around his neck since he was a kid, and that it’s made of expensive paper, the kind he’s only ever seen in fancy stationery shops.

He reads the address in Saville Row, and scoffs.

“I’ve never met a tailor before, but I know you ain’t one.”

Roe seems unperturbed. “If you decide to take the position, present yourself at this tailor’s. Ask for Merlin, and tell them you’ve come to learn a trade. Now,” Roe continues, before Eggsy could ask questions, “I suggest you take, Daisy was it, somewhere else for an hour. Your step-father and I need to have a little _chat_ about why he is going to take his unworthy carcass to the nearest police station and confess _everything_ , and I have no desire to traumatise the poor child further.”

Eggsy considers his options, looks at Dean’s prone form, looks at the very scary man who just offered him more than he ever would have dared to ask for, and then looks down at Daisy, (scared, vulnerable, tiny and too young to really understand Daisy, who up until now he’s only barely been able to protect,) and makes a decision that he very much doubts he’ll ever regret.

“Right then,” he says with a firm nod to Roe. “If you’ll excuse us, I do believe we ‘ave somewhere that ain’t ‘ere to be.”

Eggsy picks up his keys and wallet from where they’d fallen to the floor from his pockets, then steps over Dean’s prone (but for now still breathing) body.

Hugging Daisy close to him, he walks out the door.

He doesn’t look back.


	4. Chapter 4

Eggsy ended up sitting with Daisy in the park until the sun went down. He ignored the looks that passers-by gave him, he was sure he looked a right mess, all covered in blood from a nosebleed, bruises, and snot from where Daisy had bawled against his shoulder until he managed to get her settled down.

They watched the ducks together. And the people feeding the ducks. Mostly happy families- mothers and fathers out with their children, couples young and old. It was a heartwarming scene, and it made Daisy giggle to see the greedy birds snap up the offerings of the various smiling people.

Eggsy ignored how the two of them were given a wide berth, breached only by judgemental or cautiously concerned glances. There may have been a time or two where he encouraged it with a glare. He and Daisy neither needed nor wanted anyone’s pity, no matter how well-meaning.

Those who weren’t well-meaning could go fuck themselves.

Just as the sky was starting to darken and the streetlights began to flicker on, Eggsy’s mobile rang. He picked up, and it was his mother, frantic with worry, because apparently there was blood on the floor and no-one home.

At least her first question when she called him was asking if he had Daisy with him. Eggsy thought it was nice to see that she had _some_ of her priorities straight, low self-esteem/preservation/standards-in-men aside.

Eggsy didn’t tell her about Roe (or Merlin, or whatever it was that the odd gent wanted to be known as- frankly, if he was serious about the job, Eggsy would call him Harry Fucking Potter if he asked). For one thing, as much as the man had done him a solid twice today, in ensuring that a) Eggsy wasn’t locked up, and b) Eggsy wasn’t getting the shit kicked out of him by his scum-sucking step-dad, Eggsy had a pretty strong impression that the man didn’t like being talked about.

The death-threats weren’t exactly a subtle clue.

And more than that, his Mum always fucking went mental whenever it sounded like Eggsy might be following in his Dad’s footsteps. Well, at least as far as the whole doing something “dangerous” (exciting) and far away went.

(Eggsy tried not to be too hurt at the fact that she never went mental over her shitty husband beating him up, but on the other hand, she was the one who had taught him how to be all light-fingered when the unemployment cheques just weren’t cutting it that one month before she met Dean, and she was the one who had taught him everything he knew about reading people, and acting and lying under pressure, so it wasn’t like he could say she’d never cared about his survival. She just went about it in a different kind of way to the mums on TV.)

By the time he made it back with Daisy to the shitty flat they had, his mother had given up trying to scrub the blood out of the carpet, and had gotten a call from Dean, explaining that he was in lock-up.

“He wouldn’t tell me what he was in for, just kept saying that he had to, that it was the bald guy who made him go in and confess. You know anything about this?” she asked Eggsy.

Eggsy, freshly showered and playing “this little piggie” with Daisy’s toes to make her giggle just shrugged. “Don’t look at me, I’m just lookin’ forward to not bein’ a punchin’ bag for a while,” he said more bluntly than he usually would. (His ribs were killing him.)

He almost immediately regretted his candour when his Mum started crying, but he felt that it needed to be said.

(Maybe, just maybe, this would finally be enough for his Mum to drag herself out of this toxic relationship.

But Eggsy knew better than to hold his breath.)

…

It takes Eggsy almost a whole two days before his curiosity gets to him and he goes to check out the tailor shop on Saville Row.

When he gets there, he stands outside for a moment, surveying the front display.

If he didn’t know any better, Kingsman would have blended in all too well with the other shops on Saville row- that kind of understated elegance hidden behind slightly grimy windows that spoke of effortless class and more money than Eggsy was likely to see in his entire life if he lived it over ten times.

 If this was a movie, this would be the part where Eggsy paused, and hesitated, wondering whether entering was the right choice to make. Maybe there would be a dramatic voiceover or monologue, where he wondered if this was the right decision to make.

But since this was real life, once Eggsy had cased the place like he was about to rob it, he walked straight inside.

“Can I help you?” a smartly dressed shop assistant in a tweed waistcoat stepped forward.

Eggsy nodded, and pulled out the business card Roe had left him with.

“A bald gent in a jumper gave me this, said if I wanted to come and learn a trade that I should come here, and ask for…” he felt slightly ridiculous saying this, “Merlin.”

The shop assistant looked him up and down, and a thin line appeared between her eyes.

“Is that so,” she said, sounding… not sceptical per se, but more thoughtful, as she tilted her head, looking Eggsy up and down, a lock of mousy brown hair escaping her carefully pinned bun.

Eggsy nodded, trying to ignore how it felt like her eyes were x-rays that could see every scar and fading bruise around his bright clothes. (It wasn’t just personal aesthetic that made him dress like that. It was interesting how easy it was to distract people with bright colours and “obnoxious” style. It tended to make their eyes skate over the parts you didn’t want them to focus on.)

After a moment, she nodded firmly. “Alright then. Follow me.”

She led him into a dressing room, and Eggsy startled when she put her hand against the glass, and then suddenly the floor started to drop away.

Establishing quickly that they seemed to be on some sort of strange lift, Eggsy relaxed very slightly, and nodded to the shop assistant. “I’m Eggsy,” he introduced himself.

“Yes, I surmised,” the shop assistant nodded. “You can call me Igraine.”

Eggsy’s brow crinkled. “I’m startin’ to detect a theme here,” he muttered. It had been a while since he read the dog-eared old paperback that had a compilation of King Arthur stories, but when he’d had it, he had read it over and over.

(The book had been stolen along with the rest of the contents of his bag when he had gone and got high in the wrong place. He had missed the book more than the ten quid that had been in his wallet at the time.)

“Who’m I goin’ ta meet next, Lancelot?” he wondered, only half-facetiously.

“Unlikely,” replied Igraine, not batting an eyelid. “He’s currently out on assignment.”

“Ah,” responded Eggsy. “Well I’m glad we cleared that up,” he added sarcastically.

Igraine merely smiled at him mysteriously, in a way that caused the hairs on Eggsy’s arms to stand on end.

“No offence,” he muttered, scuffing his feet a little and looking down.

He was mostly pleasantly surprised when Igraine laughed at him.

“I can see why Merlin likes you,” she responded.

“His real name’s not Richard, is it,” Eggsy stated, no question in his tone.

“No,” Igraine replied, smiling in a way that reminded Eggsy of one of his primary school teachers whenever he got the answers right in class. “It isn’t.”

She didn’t expand, and Eggsy didn’t ask. He had more important things to worry about, like if he was inadvertently joining some kind of odd Arthurian-themed cult.

Eggsy blinked as he realised that they were _still_ descending.

“How far down does this thing go?” he wondered aloud.

Igraine laughed at him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merlin makes Eggsy an offer that he doesn't want to refuse.

Eggsy reckoned he was starting to feel how Alice might have felt falling down the rabbit hole.

Because he’d gone pretty deep underground following a stranger, and now that he was here, he was surrounded by some pretty bonkers shit.

The planes and cars in the great big hangar were fucking wicked though.

He followed Igraine through a narrow grey corridor, and then she stopped at a door that had a slightly more worn handle than the ones preceding it. Otherwise, it was unmarked.

She gave Eggsy an impish smile that didn’t quite reach her calculating eyes, and ushered him in, calling out, “Merlin! Got your fresh meat!” she ushered him in, and then sauntered off, her footsteps nearly silent in her leather loafers. (Odd, thought Eggsy, a sharply-dressed fashionplate like that choosing granny shoes over heels? Though he supposed that maybe she just wanted to be comfortable whilst she was working on her feet all day- he had seen the blisters that his Mum and a few of his female acquaintances had gotten from their fashionable shoes, so in retrospect maybe it wasn’t so odd at all.)

Eggsy looked through the door to see a familiar bald head and broad shoulders leaning over a table, soldering something.

The man looked up, and cracked what almost might have been the ghost of a smile. “Eggsy! Glad you could make it.”

Merlin watched Eggsy relax minutely upon recognising him, pasting on an easy smile in greeting.

Normally, this was the time that Merlin would make a threat. Normally, this would be the part where he explained the confidentiality clause, and how if one wanted one’s next-of-kin to not end up in a body-bag, one would keep one’s bloody trap shut. Eggsy had been let into Kingsman’s inner sanctum, and whether or not he fully realised it yet, that was the point at which the real testing began, no matter what role was intended for you.

But Merlin looked at Eggsy, saw the well-earned wariness behind the bright beam he gave him, considered what he had learned of his character since they had met in front of the police station, and knew two things.

 The first, was that if he wanted to actually _earn_ Eggsy’s trust, then he was going to have to be careful. Here was a boy, no, a young man, who was _used_ to being kicked when he least expected it. He would be waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it was up to Merlin to be ready to do damage control when that inevitably happened, one way or another.

The second, was that he _wanted_ to earn Eggsy’s trust. It wasn’t just that Eggsy was Lee’s legacy (and Merlin was well-aware of the debt there) it was that he could see that Eggsy was practically _brimming_ with potential. Merlin trained the Kingsman candidates, not just because he was the best man for the job, (and he very much was) but because it gave him great satisfaction to hone the usual bunch of privileged brats into the best weapons they could be.

(The useless ones tended to break, and Merlin rarely felt a qualm about discarding them. They should have known what they were signing up for. Regardless of how James and Harry acted some of the time, being a Kingsman agent was hardly a game.)

But the way Merlin managed that, was through his skill at reading people.

And reading Eggsy, Merlin could tell that if he earned Eggsy’s trust completely, then, and only then, would he get the best out of him.

Merlin had always enjoyed challenges.

But there was taking on a challenge, and then there was taking on a challenge with a concussion.

Merlin suspected that if he wanted to win Eggsy’s loyalty and respect, he was going to need to keep his wits about him.

He put down the soldering iron in a rest, and unplugged it from the wall before walking over, inspecting Eggsy from head to toe in a way that made him feel a bit like he was back at bootcamp with the drill sergeant checking his dress uniform.

“Is this how you like to present yourself to the world?” Merlin asked him bluntly.

Eggsy looked down at himself and shrugged.

“What do you see when you look at me?” he asked.

Merlin’s brow furrowed slightly as he considered. “A puffed up young ruffian who is looking for some attention,” he stated bluntly.

Eggsy nodded, shifting his weight from his toes to his heels and back again.

“So I look a bit shifty, but not real sneaky, right? And if you hadn’t had a gander at me school records, you’d probably think I was a bit of a dimwit, yeah?”

Merlin nodded slowly.

Eggsy spread his hands and took a mocking bow.

“You and everyone else bruv, so don’t be too ‘ard on yerself for ‘avin’ prejudices. Which frankly, in my line of work, has often suited me right down to the ground, because people never suspect the brightly coloured chav to have a brain in his head. And even if I slip up, a quick follow up with some mouthing off, and most will just let their confirmation bias kick in, and then they’ll either see my slip up as a blip, or as some evidence of animal cunning or something.”

“’Confirmation bias’?” Merlin repeated.

Eggsy recognised his real question and scoffed. “We might be skint in the council estate bruv, but we still get library cards, internet access and BBC on the telly.”

Merlin conceded that point with an inclination of his head. “And don’t think I missed that comment about your line of work. Feel any particular need to enlighten me?”

Eggsy grinned to hide the way that the look in Merlin’s eyes kinda made him want to run and hide under the bed. He’d long learnt that the most important survival lesson was to never show fear to a predator. Even if they could tell you were full of it, they respected a show of bald-faced bravado over pissing yourself.

“Oh, don’t you worry your shiny head about that bruv,” Eggsy babbled, almost instantly regretting his choice of epithet, but ploughing on doggedly nonetheless. “You’ve done me a solid, so I won’t pull any of that shit on you ‘less you really _really_ ask for it, yeah?”

Instead of throwing Eggsy against a wall or something, (Eggsy did not doubt for a second that the man was capable of it, those shoulders looked _broad_ under that prissy jumper,) Merlin just rolled his eyes. “Cheeky shit. Just keep in mind that if you try any cons around here, you’re conning people who plan or act out elaborate lies for a living, and I mean that both in the sense of they get paid to do it, and if the field agents don’t do it well, they might end up maimed or dead.”

(Eggsy resisted the urge to tell Merlin that it sounded like he was talking about Wednesday night on the council estate. A magician never revealed all of his secrets, and whatever it was Eggsy had stumbled into, he had a feeling that revealing his full deck might be a bad idea.

…And to be fair, Merlin continued to be one of the scariest bastards that Eggsy had ever met just based on the vibes he was giving off, so really, maybe he had a point. Either way, it wouldn’t hurt to get the lie of the land first.)

“Consider the message received. So,” Eggsy said, clapping his hands together. “What’s this Kingsman gig all about then? I got a couple of ideas, but if it’s all the same to you bruv, I’d rather you just came out and explained what the hell it is that you want me to do here. ‘Learn a trade’, yeah? What trade you going to teach me?”

Merlin paused for a moment, clearly taking the time to choose his words, keeping eye contact with Eggsy.

Eggsy held his gaze, and tried to not think too hard on how it made him feel like he was looking into the eyes of some kind of falcon who would happily savage him if given sufficient reason.

“Eggsy, you once made the choice to serve your country,” Merlin said.

Eggsy immediately dropped his gaze to study his shoes. He’d had this conversation before. He knew where this was no doubt going. Something something waste of talent, something something disappointing, something something typical of what you could expect of someone from Eggsy’s background.

A hand came and rested on his shoulder, and Eggsy almost flinched in surprise. “I’m not about to berate you, lad. I suspect I can make a pretty fair guess as to why you chose to drop out, and from what I heard from Sergeant Kilkenny,” Eggsy looked up startled, “it sure as hell wasn’t because you lacked ability.”

Biting his lip, Eggsy felt a rueful smile work itself into the corners of his mouth. “You chatted to Sarge? I thought the bastard hated my guts,” he said.

Merlin smirked. “That’s what you’re meant to think. I brought your name up with him on our most recent catch-up, and he practically gave you a ringing endorsement.” He retracted the hand, and Eggsy was surprised at how cold his shoulder suddenly felt. “Eggsy,” Merlin looked serious. “Now that your mother and sister are safe from that Neanderthal, would you like another chance to serve your country?”

Well that answered one of the questions Eggsy had had. All this talk about serving his country, he was suspecting that this wasn’t exactly an organised crime syndicate he was walking into. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure.

Cocking his head, Eggsy considered Merlin. “So you want me in on the black-ops spy shit that got my Dad killed, yeah?”

Merlin nodded once, expression stone-like. “Not exactly. There are currently no openings for field agents, however, if you join my division, you’ll start off in a support role and then we’ll see how you go.”

Eggsy did not miss how Merlin hadn’t refuted the ‘spy’ part of that statement. A small part of him relaxed. It wasn’t that he was a stranger to crime, but he was getting the idea that he was pretty far in over his head here. If he was going to _commit_ to jumping boots first in with what was looking to be a shady sort of organisation, he wanted to make bloody sure that said shady organisation was at least _philosophically_ on the up and up.

“Support huh. How’s that work? You want me behind a desk researching shit?” Eggsy didn’t necessarily think that that would be a _bad_ thing, if he got paid enough, but it wasn’t exactly his idea of a dream job.

It wasn’t so much that beggars couldn’t be choosers, and more that beggars had to take what opportunities came along and make the most of them.

“That will no doubt comprise part of your training, since until we find your exact niche I’d rather you gain experience with a broad range of areas. But for your first assignment, I think I’d like to start you off with developing something that I know for sure is already in your skillset.”

Eggsy had a suspicion that he knew where this was going, but decided to listen to what Merlin had to say before making assumptions.

“Oh yeah? And what would that be?”

The grin that appeared on Merlin’s face was somewhat, Eggsy thought, reminiscent of a documentary he had once watched about wolves.

“Exfiltration support.”

Eggsy’s brow furrowed. “Oh? And what’s that when he’s at home?”

Merlin’s grin didn’t abate. “Getaway driver.”

Eggsy’s face split in a delighted grin in response.

“Now you’re talking bruv. Where do I sign?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy has unexpected talents that continue to cause ripple effects.

If he was honest with himself, Merlin had not spared a thought as to what had happened to Lee Unwin’s family after he died. He knew of course that Harry had given them the Kingsman medallion, and perhaps (although it was uncharacteristic of him to say the least) naively, he had always assumed that if the family were having trouble, then they would contact the number. Then Igraine, or Elaine, or Taliesin or whoever it was who was manning the phonelines would have transferred the money, or called out the specialist doctor, or whatever it was that the family considered to be worthy of the blood-debt that Kingsman owed them.

He had never really spared a thought as to what would happen to a family when the main breadwinner was dead, before he had become eligible for the pension that all Kingsman agents had as security for their loved ones.

Perhaps it was because the closest brush with personal poverty he had ever had had been one time when as a student he had had his travel money stolen from his hotel room in Phnom Penh, an incident that had been quickly rectified via a call home.

If Merlin was honest with himself, he was currently feeling that he had rather dropped the ball when it came to checking in on the wellbeing of the family of the man who had saved his life. The council estate flat was hardly the worst place he had ever visited, but the image of Eggsy, face swelling from fresh bruises, wrapped around his bawling baby half-sister inside the squalid grey room whilst the downgrade that had managed to latch itself onto Michelle since Lee’s death bled on the carpet…

Suffice to say, he was feeling rather as though he had done Lee’s ghost a disservice by failing to even commit a light hacking offence to see how his kid was doing.

To say that he regretted the _effect_ of Eggsy’s upbringing though…

Now that would be stretching the truth.

If Merlin was being honest with himself, then he had to admit that Eggsy’s upbringing had honed an intelligent, sensitive kid into an unexpectedly versatile weapon.

Lapsed gymnastics practice had turned into the much more useful parkour.

Hours that could have been spent stacking shelves or serving fast food had been spent breaking into houses.

Dropping out of the Marines before the end of Basic had taught Eggsy how to handle firearms, but had failed to train him out of questioning orders.

(Questioning orders was something that was actually quite an important trait in Merlin’s branch. If he wanted unquestioning obedience and efficiency that was one hundred percent on his terms, well then he had software for that. If he wanted critical thinking and constructive criticism, then he needed humans who weren’t scared to speak out, even if it was against him. Judgement could be trained. The ability to tell one’s boss to go fuck himself when he’d missed out a variable required a certain type of personality.)

The shitty stepfather and other denizens of the criminal class had taught Eggsy to recognise threats, how to dodge a punch, how to take a punch, how to lie convincingly under pressure, not to mention the ins and outs of hostile negotiations.

Michelle, who in another life might have continued with her veneer of respectability, had taught him how to run a con, how to pickpocket, how to shoplift, and (albeit inadvertently) to be very, _very_ cautious in who he gave his loyalty to…

But on the other hand, his mates had taught him that the most important thing at the end of the day was to have each other’s back, because if you didn’t stand together, then everyone took the fall.

(That last trait made Merlin wonder just how well Eggsy might do with the dog test. It occurred to him that familiarising the boy with the feel of a gun full of bullets versus a gun full of blanks might not be a bad idea, just in case a field position opened up soon.)

And Eggsy hid his intelligence almost reflexively, to the point where sometimes, even Merlin forgot who he was dealing with, and was startled by the sudden insights and innovations coming from the boy.

For example: _“¿Hablás español?_ ” (Do you speak Spanish?)

“ _No, hablo castellano_.” (No, I speak Castillian.)

Merlin could have sworn that was Eggsy’s voice responding to what sounded like Lynnette, the woman they usually asked to play translator when Round Table agents required someone who could get around in a Spanish-speaking country.

“ _Que es la misma cosa_ ,” (That is the same thing,) Lynnette said with an air of exasperation.

“ _Yo pensaba que iba a Argentina. Es importante allí.”_ (I thought you were going to Argentina. It matters there.) The voice that sounded like Eggsy was sounding equally exasperated.

“ _Lo suficientemente cerca_ ,” (Close enough,) Lynnette insisted.

“ _Hablás al pedo_ ,” (You’re talking rubbish,) Eggsy snorted.

Merlin rounded the corner to see that it was indeed Lynnette and Eggsy talking.

“…What is going on here?” Merlin wondered aloud, as he considered that perhaps he had hit his head.

Lynnette turned to face him, clearly in a huff. “If you were going to replace me on the mission Merlin, you should have said so.”

Merlin blinked. If he was going to what now?

Eggsy raised his hands. “Look, Merlin didn’t say jack or squat, I just wanted to check if you knew the difference, is all. Would be like showing up in Australia and expecting that they still speak the Queens’ you feel me?”

Lynnette scowled, and attempted to loom over Eggsy. “I’ll have you know-“

“Yeah?” Eggsy leaned right into Lynnette’s personal space, unintimidated by the taller woman. “What _do_ you know? Because it sure as hell ain’t how to speak _Argentinian_ Spanish. Out of the goodness of me ‘eart I was all set to give you a couple of tips, but now I’m going to make you ask me nicely.”

Lynnette, judging by the way her jaw was hanging slightly open, apparently had not been expecting that.

Eggsy rolled his eyes. “Look, I’ve been around for the grand total of two weeks. Like hell Merlin’s about to trust me out anywhere that ain’t directly under his nose so he can watch me fuck up in person.”

Merlin watched as Lynnette visibly deflated. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’ is right. So are you going to keep on being a twat, or are you going to fucking listen to what I got to tell you?” Eggsy responded with what Merlin felt to be admirable restraint considering the circumstances.

Lynnette looked to Merlin’s expression for some form of guidance, paled dramatically at Merlin’s expression (sometimes it was useful having what he had heard Dagonet describe rather colourfully as “resting murder face”), and muttered something about how she would be appreciative to get some tips.

Merlin picked up the clipboard he had accidentally left in the room that he had come for in the first place, and left them to it.

“Out of interest, where _did_ you learn Argentinian Spanish?” Merlin asked Eggsy later. Because Eggsy had certainly not taken any units in it at school. (Apparently the comprehensive Eggsy had attended had specialised in half-hearted French and, somewhat idiosyncratically, Hindi. Merlin was now wondering if it was only whimsy that had caused Eggsy to switch from the first to the second mid-way through his school career.)

Eggsy shrugged. “Had an Argentinian lady babysit me when I was a kid. I picked up a few things.”

Including, apparently, conversational Argentinian Spanish. Would wonders never cease.

…

Something that Merlin would never learn, but that Lynnette would never forget, would be the phrase that Eggsy taught her that was slang for an unwanted guest showing up-“ _caer como peludo de regalo_ ”. In another universe, she had not recognised the significance, nor the meaning of the phrase that directly translated roughly as “falling like a hairy gift”. Overhearing that phrase spoken, Lynnette realised that the driver, a local man, revealed that they were not the only foreigners in the vicinity of the chalet coming to intrude on Professor Arnold.

Lynnette realised that Lancelot was walking into a trap.

In another universe, she would have forever wondered if she could have done something more to help one of her favourite agents.

In this universe though, Lynnette warned Lancelot, and for once, he dialled down the showboating enough that he was not caught entirely off guard by the woman with swords for feet.

He lost the fingers from his left hand.

It could have been his life.

He was arrogant, but he nonetheless knew how close that had been. It was fortunate the sword-like prostheses were so completely useless for walking in snow, or he might not have escaped when he ducked back out the door of the chalet, running past a figure in a thick fur coat who shouted excitedly at him in lisped American English, but did not attempt to stop his escape.

The woman found a gun and tried to shoot him, but by the time she could take aim, he was most of the way to the treeline, and her aim was imperfect at that distance.

“Thanks old girl,” was what he said to Lynnette as she gave his dismembered hand first aid in the back of a stolen van, “if you had failed to tip me off, who knows what might have happened.”

Lynnette had her suspicions, and knew how close a shave it really might have been.

But she would be damned if that insolent brat got the credit.


	7. Chapter 7

The first time Harry met Eggsy, his impression had been of a chubby-cheeked, quiet child, who had calmly sat playing with the snow-globe with the settled obliviousness of a child too young to really understand what was going on.

The second time Harry met Eggsy, his impression was rather… different.

“Get the fuck in, bruv!”

Harry dove through the conveniently open back window of the Kingsman black taxi, and heard the engine roar in response to the driver hitting the accelerator hard. He saw the back of a blonde head, with a driver’s cap sitting somewhat askew above a formal jacket before he was unceremoniously jerked onto the floor by the inertia of a wild turn.

“You might want to buckle up, those fuckers were right behind you, so it’s evasive manoeuvres until Lyonesse can catch up and tag us out,” the driver said, banking a hard right and blithely ignoring the blaring of horns that the move earned him as he no doubt cut off drivers travelling the other direction.

Harry dragged himself back onto the seat, but eschewed the seatbelt for now in exchange for increased ability to turn around and see where they were being followed. He ducked instinctively as bullets hit the back window of the car, but fortunately the Kingsman-prototype bullet-proof glass remained intact.

The driver rounded another corner, and then with an abrupt left that was hidden from their pursuers by the curve of the road, suddenly shot into a narrow side-alley, losing one side-mirror from the tight fit, with a few sparks rising from the scrape of brick on metal.

“Do you think you could have found a tighter alley to turn down?” Harry demanded, noting with no little trepidation that they would be unable to open the car doors in this narrow space.

The driver snorted. “Keep your shirt on, bruv. All part of the plan.”

The alley ended, and the car shot out into a slightly wider back street, lined with dust-bins. Another black taxi was waiting there.

“Ready when you are ma’am,” the driver said.

“Right you are,” came the familiar voice of one of Merlin’s minions Harry recognised from a previous op, as the other black taxi shot out of the alley going in the other direction

Instead of flooring it out of there, which was what Harry assumed was the plan, his driver suddenly braked, and practically drifted into a driveway with a sharp turn of the wheel. He clicked a button, and suddenly a patch of wall covered in ivy slid sideways until the gap behind them was closed.

“What…”

“Shh!” the driver shushed Harry before he could ask any further questions, pressing another button (this one Harry recognised) that retracted the taxi light into the roof, making the car simply look like another black car. “We’re ducked and covered. All yours Lyonnesse,” the driver said.

“Cheers Eggsy, I’ve picked up your tails, so I’ll try and lose these knobheads in traffic. See you on the other side,” Lyonnesse replied.

“Eggsy?” Harry asked, a little incredulity leaking into his tone.

“Yeah?” the driver turned, and Harry saw that yes, his driver did indeed match the picture that Merlin had sent him as part of the file.

What surprised him though was just how little the boy (he couldn’t be more than twenty three, surely,) resembled Lee. On the one hand, Lee and his grown son shared more than a few facial features. The photos on file were nearly interchangeable, in fact. (It was honestly a little eerie.)

On the other hand, there was something about the way that Eggsy held himself that told Harry that the family resemblance might very well end at the surface level.

Lee had been intelligent and soft-spoken, and it had been his complete unshakeable dedication to whatever cause he thought worthy that had drawn Harry to originally recommend him as a Lancelot candidate. More than anything else, the man had reminded Harry of a bloodhound – loyal, and unwavering in the hunt.

Eggsy on the other hand…

Well. Harry had barely made his acquaintance, but there was something about the way those eyes scrutinised him that warned him that the son was a very different animal indeed.

And then Eggsy grinned – an open, easy expression – and Harry was half-wondering if he had imagined the feral calculation in the boy’s eyes.

“Galahad, innit? I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance,” the boy said, offering a slightly sweaty hand for Harry to shake.

“Yes. I must apologise for my manners, I was rather expecting Lucan,” Harry explained, taking the offered hand. Lucan was, after all, the driver that Harry was most used to working with, the man having been a contemporary of his since very shortly after Harry had first taken up the Galahad mantle.

(Good lord, that was nearly thirty years ago now, before this young pup had even been a tickle in Lee’s leg. Where had the time gone?)

Eggsy shrugged. “Lucan was apparently needed for a mission with Percival, so Merlin made the call and said that I’d be an okay fit here. I got you out in one piece, so I guess I pass my first proper exam on this exfiltration gig.”

Harry felt his brows raise. “I would hardly say that we are out of the woods yet, boy. The mission is not over-”

“Until we’re back to base, yeah, I know,” Eggsy interrupted him. “But my bit here with you’s just about done, because here’s your ride home,” he said, indicating a showy silver Jaguar that pulled into a nearby driveway.

Harry felt his brows attempt to meet with his hairline.

“… _That_ is my ‘ride’? Isn’t it a little… ostentatious?”

It was not as though ostentatiousness was unusual on a Kingsman operation, but normally, that trend was more so that one would fit in at the parties of the well-moneyed, rather than as part of an escape plan. Had Harry missed Merlin being replaced?

Eggsy snickered in response to Harry’s expression. “‘Donated’ by one of the marks a few weeks back. Merlin agreed when I put forward the idea that no one would suspect anyone to have the balls to use a flash thing like that as the secondary getaway vehicle. Olwen ain’t stopped beamin’ since we gave ‘er the keys.”

From Harry’s previous acquaintance with the hijab-wearing driver (whose family had apparently emigrated to Britain back in the ‘50s, so regardless of what Fors’s expression had said, she was as much a British citizen as anyone else in Kingsman) he didn’t doubt it. The woman was a complete and utter menace behind the wheel, which was why Merlin tended to use her skills ruthlessly and often.

“Damn straight I haven’t,” came Olwen’s voice through the comms. “This car really was _far_ too good for that prat you liberated it from. Come on over and hop in, Galahad, we haven’t got all day. Eggsy, you know the plan. If you make it back to base on time, my sister-in-law made too many felafels again and I’ll split them with you.”

“Roger that Olwen,” Eggsy responded, his tone crisp and his teeth bared in a grin. “You know I’d do anything for your sister-in-law’s cooking.”

An indelicate snort came over the comms. “You just say that because you haven’t tried her baklava yet. Galahad, our window is closing, move your arse.”

Harry realised that he’d been spending time examining Eggsy that he should have been spending on the more immediate task of getting back to base. He jerked a polite nod at Eggsy and then swiftly vacated the vehicle in favour of Olwen’s Jaguar. He slid into the passenger seat, and nodded to his new driver as he clicked his seatbelt into place.

“At your leisure,” he said.

Olwen smirked at him, threw him a brightly-coloured cap to wear as an easy disguise, and then threw the car into gear with gusto.

A few moments later, and the car with Eggsy in it was out of sight.

Harry watched Olwen out the corner of his eye as she threaded them between a lorry and two scooters, and saw with little surprise that Eggsy had been entirely correct in his assessment – Olwen was clearly enjoying her new vehicle.

Not wanting to be picked up on the auditory communications line, (but knowing that Merlin would gut him if he switched the microphone off before an op ended,) Harry slipped his glasses off and sat them on top of his cap before leaning forward towards the dashboard and using British Sign Language to ask Olwen if he had understood correctly when Eggsy had implied that the silver Jaguar was entirely down to him.

Olwen laughed, and responded one-handedly that Harry had heard correctly, and that if he made her a cuppa when this was all over she could be convinced to tell him the whole mad story.

“Nice driving kid,” she said aloud. “I’ll let Merlin know that as far as I’m concerned, I’m happy to work with you as an off-sider if need be.”

“Cheers Olwen,” came the reply over the comms. I’ll sit tight here for another hour or two, then I’ll go find Tintagel.”

“You do that,” Olwen responded. “I’ll see you the next time we’re both in Camelot. Going into the tunnel soon, so we’ll be out of contact for a short while.”

“Drive safe,” Eggsy said. “See you later.”

A few moments later, and Olwen drove into the tunnel, temporarily cutting off comms.

“So, what did you think of the new hire?” Olwen asked Harry, brown eyes glittering with amusement behind her regulation Kingsman Glasses.

Harry huffed a laugh. “Unorthodox, but I can see him being a good fit. Not really what I expected but…” that was not exactly a bad thing.

Olwen nodded. “Yeah, he’s rough around the edges, no use beating about the bush, but he’s quick, and not afraid to speak up if he thinks he’s got value to add. We were going to only do a single decoy for this time around before he suggested the fakeout with this beautiful car,” she patted the leather upholstered dash with a dreamy smile.

Harry bit back a chuckle. Eggsy had not been joking when he had mentioned how happy Olwen was the car. “I know Merlin has been singing his praises, despite the somewhat… unusual recruitment method. What was Arthur’s reaction?”

Olwen rolled her eyes.

“Galahad, when was the last time that Arthur paid any serious attention to us plebs down in Merlin’s division? Far as I’m aware he thinks that Lyonnesse and Leon are two separate people, and he’s got not the foggiest that Morgause and Elaine married each other the second the legislation went through back in 2013. Hell, he told Merlin to make me take my hijab off, and _still_ hasn’t cottoned on that Merlin just stopped putting me on ops where Arthur was likely to see me.” Olwen shrugged. “I’m only ever a getaway driver or a paramedic, so it’s not like I’m undercover most of the time anyway, (like anyone expects a quality lady like me to be driving one of you white boys anywhere anyway,) and besides, I wear reversible scarves, so give me a minute to switch and ditch the glasses and BAM! Whole new look.”

Harry just nodded. He knew better than to offer any disagreements he might have (and honestly, he thought she had a point) and besides, she had answered his question.

It was for the best really that Arthur apparently hadn’t noticed Merlin hiring Lee Unwin’s son right under his nose.

“So,” he said, changing the subject. “What name does Eggsy get now that he’s set to pass?” Because if he was being used on a mission with actual Round Table Knights like Galahad, he knew that he was practically confirmed as a useful asset, and Kingsman in general (and Merlin in particular) was nothing if not possessive of appropriate talent.

“Elyan,” Olwen replied.

Harry blinked. “Hellion?”

Olwen snorted. “Appropriate, but no, El-y-an,” she answered, sounding out the name out for him. “Good solid name. Bastard of Bors, born due to trickery by his mother with a magic ring, and a cousin of Guinevere who helped her and Lancelot escape after the betrayal.” People in Merlin’s division generally read up on the myths out of curiosity.

Harry blinked. “A knight’s name? What’s Morgan thinking?” he wondered, naming the shadowy division head who had charge of Intelligence, did the background checks and as the resident Arthurian legend expert got to pick the code names. (Arthur couldn’t be bothered, and Merlin tended to let his ex-wife have her way on things like this.)

Olwen grinned. “You know as well as me that that woman has a funny sense of humour.” Her expression shifted into a slightly more business-like one, and she nodded at the approaching tunnel’s end. “Comms are back on,” she warned him.

Harry nodded in response.

“Get us home, Olwen. If what I’ve heard about Lancelot’s last mission is even half true, then it’s going to be all hands on deck.”

Olwen nodded sharply in agreement, but refrained from commenting. Which was telling in and of itself, because Merlin’s division and Morgan’s division tended to know anything worth knowing to the last person long before the Round Table Knights, just due to the nature of their respective roles of running support for field operations and generally gathering intel.

Well shit, thought Harry.

This could be a serious problem.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Because what I need is more Kingsman ideas at the moment what is with this fandom it's invading my BRAIN.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/beka-tiddalik


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